The naming, taboos and gender of winter melon, explained clearly in one article

It has been two summers and winters since I quit my job and came home to learn farming. In winter, the cold wind and dreary rain stab through the bones; in summer, the harsh sun and muggy heat leave the head spinning. But watching the crops thrive and grow brings a kind of indescribable sense of accomplishment, as if I were raising an infant, a strange illusion of being a nanny.

It is hard to say whether I prefer winter or summer, but after going through the cycle of cold and heat, I am certain: summer vegetables are harder to grow than winter ones.

To put it more precisely, the melons and fruits that flourish in summer require the process of flowering, pollination, fruit set, and nurturing growth, so of course they fail more easily than winter crops where only the leaves are eaten, such as cabbage, napa cabbage, and bok choy...

The first year I grew loofah, only four or five fruits set; as for winter melon, it only produced male flowers and no female flowers, and after the first summer it was a total loss, which was truly disheartening. So besides observing nature myself and plunging into the work, I also have to constantly learn all kinds of knowledge about melons and fruits from my elders, for only then is there a chance to "reap melons by planting melons."

The year I decided to return home to farm, my grandfather was 95 years old. Because he had difficulty walking, he "officially" retired as a self-cultivating farmer; moreover, his hearing problems worsened day by day, making conversation impossible, so I could hardly learn farming techniques from him. The other people in the family had no farming experience, a typical generation with a farming gap.

I attend classes at the agricultural improvement station or the farmers' association. In addition, chatting and hanging out with neighboring middle-aged farmers and shooting the breeze with the seedling vendors at the temple entrance are more interesting learning resources. They often still carry the old wisdom and trivia passed down from the previous generation, which opens my eyes.

Part One: The Taboos of Winter Melon

The first time I grew winter melon, I bought seedlings from a vendor at the temple entrance. After money changed hands and the goods were delivered, the boss specifically instructed me: "Do you know the taboos of growing winter melon?"

"Huh? Taboos?"

Seeing my blank look, the boss looked pleased and passed on to me the three taboos of growing winter melon: 1. Winter melon is afraid of loneliness; 2. Winter melon must not be touched; 3. Winter melon cannot be looked at.

I think my head must have been covered in question marks, so the boss continued to explain in detail.

Afraid of Loneliness

Winter melon is afraid of loneliness, so when planting, they must be in pairs, in groups, in cliques, and you must absolutely not plant just one single winter melon. The reason is actually very simple: if you plant only one melon or fruit, it is probably not easy for them to pollinate each other, so you should plant several to increase the probability of successful pollination. Pollination is an objective description with no emotional investment, while the old folks' personified phrase "afraid of loneliness" vividly makes people want to plant several at once to help matchmake the winter melons.

Besides being afraid of loneliness, the younger sister of Aunt Hong Xiang, a watermelon farmer in Miaoli, once said something similar. She said watermelons are "gutless" and "afraid of ghosts," so you should plant more of them together, letting the watermelons expand their ranks and build up their courage. The principle is consistent throughout: increase the chances of pollination.

Must Not Be Touched

Generally, after melons and fruits have just set, the old folks always instruct you not to touch them, for fear that the small fruits will easily turn yellow and rot. Winter melon is even stricter: the entire plant must not be touched! For example, if the winter melon vine grows off in the wrong direction, you cannot directly lift the vine with your hand either; at most you can set up a bamboo pole to slightly adjust and guide the direction of the winter melon vine's growth.

Why is winter melon so reserved about not being touched? The boss did not have a clear reason, only knowing it was passed down from the old folks and was an unfailingly tested iron rule. After going home, I looked up information online myself. Since the stems, leaves, and fruits of the winter melon all have fine hairs, it is said that the fine hairs can absorb water and nutrients. If you reach out and touch them, damaging the fine hairs, it may affect the winter melon's growth, so when watering and weeding you must be careful not to touch the winter melon, lest you ruin its growth vigor.

A male winter melon, cut open to reveal few seeds and abundant, thick flesh

When the Heart Has Something It Loves, It Cannot Bear to See the Crop Decline

Two years of planting experience have confirmed for me that if you are going to plant, you should plant crops you love to eat. Sometimes I ask other farmers how they choose the types and varieties of crops, and even highly market-commercialized farmers tell me with great certainty that besides considering economic price, of course you should plant crops you like to eat, because after all you have to tend them with your heart's blood; who would want to raise a child they do not love?

To my shame, I do not like eating winter melon! Because I hate eating ginger, and the clear, sweet winter melon is often cooked in soup with shredded ginger, I have avoided it since childhood. It is instead my family who loves winter melon and strongly demanded that I plant it. As I planted it, it seemed I developed some inexplicable affection for winter melon. If everyone could provide me with winter melon recipes "without shredded ginger," I think it is possible I could fall in love with them.